The Long Patrol: World War II Novel (6 page)

Dunphy peeked over the hole towards the jungle. He saw the last of the OP sprinting back to their original holes. He poked his head higher and called to one, he thought it was Crandall, “Hey, hey Crandall. What’d you see out there?”

Crandall didn’t look at him but slid into his hole fifteen yards to his right. He popped up, “They’re coming, right on our ass. The whole Jap army.”

Now their own mortars were firing. The outgoing sounded good. The explosions lit up the jungle. The mortar crews were walking their shots back, giving the Japs their own medicine. Dunphy had his rifle out and scanning. He pulled four grenades off his battle harness and placed them within easy reach. He looked to his right and saw Crandall and Troutman sighting down their M1’s sights.

The Japs would have to cross fifty yards of open ground before getting to their holes. He hoped it would be enough. The thought of hand to hand combat terrified him. As if on cue he heard Sergeant Carver yell, “Fix bayonets. Hold fire until you hear the machine guns.”

Dunphy tried to remember where the machine guns were. There were two to his right and three to his left. He was in the middle of the company. He took a deep breath. The mortars were still working the tree line and he thought he could hear screaming. Then there was a whistle and the jungle seemed to come alive. Where there had been nothing now there were green clad soldiers. The shrill whistle kept blowing, carrying on the humid air over the sound of falling mortars.

Dunphy sighted on a Jap’s chest and was about to squeeze the trigger when he remembered his orders; wait for the machine guns to open up. He didn’t have long to wait. Up and down the line the thirty calibers opened up, their distinctive staccato cadence a welcome sound. He watched Japanese falling all along the line, but for every man down there seemed to be three more. He fired at his man, but the shot went high. The Jap hunkered and kept coming. Dunphy adjusted and fired three more shots; the man went down. He found another target right behind the first and dropped him, a spray of red mist from his chest. Another target, he shot and spun the man around, his shoulder shredded. He found another, but this one went down before he could shoot. The Japs were being decimated by their withering fire, but they were getting closer. He heard pings as men around him burned through their clips. He wondered how many more shots he had and cursed himself for not knowing.

He fired and missed and his clip pinged. He ejected the clip, grabbed another and slapped it home, just like training. There were targets everywhere. He burned through another clip. He stopped seeing the men he was shooting. He was shooting at uniforms and colors instead. They’d halved the distance. Mortars were still falling amongst them, tearing limbs from bodies, but another couple yards and the mortars would have to stop for fear of hitting their own men. Dunphy went through another clip and slid another home, but before firing again he grabbed a grenade, pulled the pin and hurled it. Before it exploded he had another in hand and threw it. He had his rifle sighted on another soldier when his grenades went off in the middle of a pack of soldiers. They were cut down with hot shrapnel. He could see their red insides exposed as they fell.

He was in a rhythm. All fear had left him and he was on automatic pilot. Find a target, fire, move to the next. He was in the zone, the place he lived when he boxed, the place where he won.

All his efforts though were only delaying the inevitable. The Japanese were going to be on top of them. They would get to their holes and it would be hand to hand. He threw his last two grenades and slammed his second to last clip into the M1. The explosions ripped a hole in the advancing line. He noticed Crandall and Troutman scrambling out of their holes to meet the screaming soldiers. Dunphy thought that was a good idea; he’d rather fight them hand to hand in the open. The hole was too constricting, one grenade and he’d be shredded.

He was about to hop out, but there was a looming soldier only feet away. He was leveling his long Arisaka rifle. Dunphy didn’t aim, but shot from the hip until his clip emptied. He sprang out thinking he’d be shot by the big man, but when he got out he saw him grimacing and shuffling backwards, trying to keep his intestines from spilling onto the ground.

Another soldier filled his vision; this soldier bent low running at him full speed, his rifle and gleaming bayonet aimed at his guts. He only had time to jump out of the way. The man flashed by him and Dunphy hit him with the butt of his rifle, sending him to the ground. The soldier tried to roll to defend himself, but he was too slow and Dunphy sank his bayonet into his spine. The soldier tensed like a spring. Dunphy pulled back trying to dislodge it, but the bayonet was stuck in the tensed soldier’s bones. He tugged and yanked, but it wouldn’t come loose.

He saw another Japanese soldier coming for him, an officer. He held a sword over his head with both hands. It shimmered in the late evening sun, dulled by dripping blood. He gave one last pull then released the M1 and confronted the charging officer. His boxing instincts kicked in. He had to get in close on this guy to keep him from using his sword.

Instead of backing away from the threat, he charged. The Japanese officer brought the sword down hard, but Dunphy was too quick. He got inside the sword’s arc and the officer’s arms came down on his shoulders. The enemy was overextended, off balance. Dunphy was crouched and once the man was exposed he sprang up hard. His steel helmet shot into the officer’s chin and he reeled backwards. He still held the sword so Dunphy pulled his helmet off and charged him. The officer’s eyes went wide; he was reeling and wouldn’t get the sword up in time. Dunphy swung the steel pot, aiming for the side of his head, but instead it slammed into his neck. There was a sickening crunch and the Japanese officer went down. Dunphy pulled his K-bar, the only weapon available and jumped onto him. He led with the knife and he felt it enter his guts. The sensation of sticky warm blood turned his stomach.

He rolled off the officer and looked around. All along the line there was fighting, mostly hand to hand. He looked for a weapon. He saw a Japanese rifle and picked it up. It felt odd and foreign, but good. To his right Crandall was in the fight of his life. He had two Japanese thrusting and jabbing. He was parrying and dodging, but those weren’t good odds. Dunphy aimed at the nearest man and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. “Dammit,” he looked at the rifle and saw the bolt action. He pulled it back and felt the satisfying sound of a round being chambered. He aimed again as the soldier was thrusting. He fired and he was surprised at the kick. The bullet destroyed the soldier’s head, blowing it apart. He’d been aiming at his chest.

He chambered another round and was aiming at the next enemy when he sensed movement to the side. He spun the rifle around and fired, hitting the charging soldier in the leg. The impact sent him spinning backwards. He screamed like a wounded animal. There was another right behind him and Dunphy knew he didn’t have enough time to chamber another round. As the soldier thrust, he parried, slapping the enemy’s gun away, but he recovered. This one was light on his feet and well balanced. They circled, the soldier thrust and Dunphy parried, testing each other. Dunphy was used to sparring, used to finding his opponent’s weak points and using them to his advantage.

He went on the attack. He feinted high and when the soldier went to parry he stepped under and slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s balls. He felt them crush under the assault. The soldier was stunned, but held onto his weapon and tried to bring it down on Dunphy’s head. He moved to the side reaching for his K-bar. He cursed, realizing he’d left it in the officer’s gut. He spun away and came up on the balls of his feet. The Japanese soldier was slow, his crushed balls slowing him down. Dunphy was about to finish him, but he bumped into the back of another enemy fighting an American. They both jumped in surprise. The distraction was enough to allow the first soldier time to spin around. Now Dunphy was caught between two enemies.

The second soldier thrust his bayonet into the chest of the G.I. and screamed as he looked into the dying soldier’s eyes. Dunphy had his hands full. He had to kill the first man quick or face two of them. He went to thrust, but his foot slipped on something slick and he fell onto his back. The first soldier loomed over him, his eyes crazy with kill lust and revenge. Dunphy couldn’t move. He tried to roll, but whatever had made him fall wasn’t allowing him to move well. He saw the point of the bayonet coming down fast. He waited for the pain of the impact and the cutting of his vital organs. This was it.

He shut his eyes, but the pain never happened. He opened his eyes and the crazed soldier was replaced by blue sky. He scrambled off the gore he’d slipped on and stood up looking for the soldier. There was a smoking hulk off to the side. He guessed that was the Jap. He saw Troutman working the bolt of a captured Arisaka, smoke wafting from the barrel.

He didn’t have time to thank him as the second soldier was on him. He’d dropped his weapon and reached for the first thing he saw, the dropped Samurai sword. It was heavier than it looked, but perfectly balanced. The handle was soaked in blood making the leather slippery. He was no swordsman, but it couldn’t be that much different than boxing. He’d tried fencing as a child, but didn’t like all the formality. He much preferred the raw power of the well-placed punch.

He held the sword with two hands. The soldier was bigger than most, burly and menacing. His bloodied bayonet was coming straight for him. When the Japanese saw the sword his eyes turned hard. He recognized his officers’ weapon.

He took a balanced lunge and Dunphy stepped to the side. He took a short thrust trying for the big man’s shoulder, but missed. The soldier feinted right then went low, Dunphy barely evaded the slice. He took a step back then attacked. He swung in a low arc, the sword clanged against the rifle. Dunphy was sure the sword would break, but its tempered steel took the shot without so much as a scratch. The soldier followed the attack with one of his own, thrusting then slicing upwards to catch his arm. Again Dunphy sprang away on light feet. As he did so he jabbed at the Jap’s hands and cut him. The soldier grit his teeth and used the pain to fuel his attack.

It came like lightning, but Dunphy expected it. He feinted left, the soldier following then went right and brought the sword down hard. The blade went through the man’s arm like it was cutting through warm butter. The soldier screamed, but held onto the rifle with his other hand. The detached arm and hand still clutching the rifle.

The wounded soldier kept coming, but the fight was over. He made a clumsy attack that Dunphy easily avoided and brought the samurai sword down on his head. It traveled down his body cleaving it in half to his sternum. He pulled the sword and watched the halves of the man fall to either side.

He looked up for the next fight, but there were no more. Soldiers littered the ground all around him. He held the sword at the ready, breathing hard, ready to take on whatever they could throw at him, but there was no one left. To his right Troutman still had the Arisaka rifle. He was down in a crouch sighting down the barrel, swinging back and forth searching for targets. The chatter of the machine guns was absent, Dunphy wondered how long they’d been silent,
had they been overrun
?

The sounds of wounded men assaulted his senses. He heard desperate pleas for medics and the gurgling sounds of men’s final breaths. He stayed tensed and ready until Crandall walked up to him and put his hand on his shoulder. Dunphy swung around with the sword and almost lopped his head off. He stopped in the nick of time when recognition came to his heightened senses.

Crandall said, “Christ, it’s over, it’s over. They’re all dead or retreated. Put that damned thing away.” Dunphy stared and realized how close he’d come to killing the man he’d saved only minutes ago. He dropped the sword in the mud and blood and sank to his knees beside it.

He looked out over the masses of dead. He felt as tired as he’d ever felt. If the Japanese decided to come again at that moment, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to lift a finger to stop them. They’d been on Guadalcanal for less than a week, but it felt like an eternity.

CHAPTER FIVE

O'Connor broke from his black sleep to the sound of thumping mortar rounds exploding. He thought for a moment he was dreaming until he felt the ground shudder slightly beneath his cot.

His surroundings flooded back to his consciousness and he sat upright forgetting his injuries. He winced and yelled out when he felt the bandages on his legs stretch and pull against his singed skin. He was forced to lie back down.

He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. The mortars were getting louder and soon they were falling so close together there was no distinguishing one explosion from another. He took a deep breath, he had to get up, get back in the fight. His unit was in the shit and he was laid up, useless in this damned infirmary.

The men around him were also awake listening to the barrage. They looked at one another trying to find solace from their fear. If the Japanese attacked and broke through they’d be just as dead as the men on the line. The Japanese weren’t known for showing mercy even to the wounded.

O'Connor saw the man to his right trying to sit up. He’d been gut shot. He could tell by the way the medics treated him he wasn’t expected to make it. It wasn’t stopping him from trying to join the fight though. O'Connor was much better off than him, only slightly wounded. He grit his teeth and came to a full sitting position. The move made him cry out involuntarily and he cursed himself for his weakness.